


Feel Good Inc.

by DudeSmashMyWindows



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Album: Demon Days (Gorillaz), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Confusion, Drug Addiction, Gen, Mind Control, Non-Graphic Violence, Other, Pain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25841713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DudeSmashMyWindows/pseuds/DudeSmashMyWindows
Summary: "They had ascended. Far beyond wealth, far beyond fame, far beyond power. Riches and clout were the means, but not the end."Just a story about 2D, Murdoc, and Russel's experience in the Feel Good Inc. tower.
Relationships: Del & Russel Hobbs, Russel Hobbs & Stuart "2D" Pot
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters are property of Damon and Jamie. I don't own them, nor am I making any profit from this work.

They had ascended. Far beyond wealth, far beyond fame, far beyond power. Riches and clout were the means, but not the end. For you see, after a certain point, if the things you create bring untold joy, ecstasies, and treasured experiences in the minds of your public, the love for said things will extend beyond your creations and onto you yourself. Basically, it gets to a point where almost anything you do will be loved, no matter what it is.

Gorillaz had reached this stage.

They had been climbing steadily since their debut album, and, unlike in some cases, their second album took them to a zenith. The music was excellent. The fans were ecstatic, and new fans were born. They sold out concert halls and arenas, and the records flew off the shelves. Some local bands were making a mini-fortune just by doing cover songs on the street and in the pubs.

All very happy, and beautiful, from the outside.

Success, endless fame, killer music, acclaim, awards – everything goes swimmingly.

Of course it did. They had ascended into the realm few ever know, and can only dream of.

_Feel Good, Incorporated._

A world where you could have anything and everything you wanted. All your desires fulfilled. A world where sheer pleasure was the only emotion to have.

But it was so dark. Literally, like a nightclub, or a weird theater.

But you could also feel a darkness. A coat of languidness.

Death. Rows and rows of bodies covered the floor, dazed from pleasure. Something was giving them stimulus, making them feel good, but it had also turned off their brains. Reduced them to living, breathing corpses. What was it? You could point at any number of things: drugs, sex, alcohol, laziness.

But 2D wasn't convinced. It was something in the atmosphere itself, he felt. It scared him.

_It's not good._

He'd tried to convey the emotion. He'd written the song not long after they first arrived here. It was a dark song, he guessed. Reflective of his darkening view on the world. But what happened? It became a smash hit, nominated for grammys, and for some it even became a sort of anthem. Gorillaz climbed higher, deeper into the clouds of success. And Feel Good Inc. thanked him for the free promotion by sucking him even further into their smothering embrace.

In other words, he thought he had sent out a warning, so someone else wouldn't fall into the same strange abyss he was lost in. So they could be aware of how it felt, how dangerous it seemed. He thought he was resisting. But all he'd gotten was praise, awards, approval. No dissension, no concern. It made him feel as if somehow he'd played into their hands.

He sighed, staring pensively out the window. This was a cage. There were literally bars in front of him, for fuck's sake. It was making him ill, looking back at the people laying contentedly on the floor, smirking at him as if he was the insane one.

_Why can't you just feel good?_

The question constantly floated in his ears. A beautiful blonde with hair down to her shoulders had asked him the other day. Or night. Whatever it was, he was losing track of time. He'd looked at her. Stared through tired black eyes. She smiled, her teeth like marshmallows, her whole body inviting and sweet like candy. She beckoned him in, gently tilting her hands towards herself.

He told her he had a headache.

She reached into her bra and took out a prescription bottle of painkillers. Placed it gingerly on the floor in front of him. They looked straight into each other's eyes for a moment.

In her eyes, he saw nothing. A slight glaze, her eyelids half-closed. She was still smiling.

In his eyes, she saw nothing. A depth of blackness, like eternal space. What she could feel, however, was pain. More than mere physical pain.

Intense discomfort. Uneasiness. But more than that even.

Despair?

Her eyes widened for an instant, flashing shock and a twisted awe. Something strong, with an intoxicating blend of macabre and beautiful was emanating from those eyes, enveloping her, gripping her around the throat like a strangling noose. For a moment she just crouched there, unable to move. Then she sprung away like a frightened animal, scrambling to her feet and stumbling through the crowd of relaxed bodies.

2D watched her apathetically, squinting from the pounding in his head. She was doing something in the corner. And soon, she laid herself back down, blending in with the others on the floor until she merged with them, indistinguishable.

“Ugh...” The groan came from him involuntarily, as the world grew fuzzy in front of his eyes. He drowned himself in the painkillers, sighing in relief as they kicked in and the pain slowly began to subside.

Languidly he slipped the bottle into his pocket, and scanned the area for familiar faces. He wanted to talk to someone.

Russel was sitting on the wooden stage in the center of the joint, an area he'd pretty much claimed as his own, wearing a large pair of headphones and vibing out to his records. Good ol' Russ. He was so good at tuning shit out and turning any world into his own. When they finally got back to the studio, he'd have some great songs, that was for sure.

But still... he didn't look normal. His face was more troubled than usual, and a shade hung over him. Was he angry? Annoyed? Frustrated?

2D couldn't tell. He never could tell with Russ. The man was a mystery; despite the many traumas he'd gone through in his life (including having the spirit of his dead friend living in his head), he never talked about them or seemed overly disturbed. Whatever effect these things had on him couldn't easily be seen. Certainly not by 2D, who didn't count reading people's thoughts and emotions as one of his fortes.

He walked over to Russel, climbing easily up to the stage, and perched himself on one of the speakers that stood on either side of Russel like a wall. For a good while, Russel didn't seem to notice him; just went on vibing to his music, his head turned away. It didn't matter. 2D leaned forward, pinching his chin in his hands, eyelids glazing over with calm as the narcotics eased their way deeper and deeper into his blood.

“ _How's you_?”

2D looked up; it was Del. Del, the one who lived in Russel's head. The spectre smiled, his blue arms folded. 2D smiled wanly in return. He didn't know how to answer.

“Where's Mu'doc?” he asked. “I 'aven't seen 'im all day.”

“Out makin' gremlins,” replied Del, making a gesture with his hands.

2D couldn't understand it, really, but after a minute or two he put two and two together. “Is 'e on the floor somewhere?”

“Mmm-hmm. _Way_ in the corner. See him?” Del pointed a finger.

2D strained his eyes. Oh yeah. There he was. Lying in a tangle of female bodies, a lazy smile of satisfaction whetting his face. The girls (ladies?) affectionately traced their fingers across his chest, looking with half-closed eyes up into his.

“'E likes it here,” 2D muttered, almost bitterly. “'E bloody likes it here.”

Del shrugged his shoulders. “Who wouldn't?” he seemed to say.

2D snorted in response. “What does Russ fink?” he asked, after a moment.

Del was silent, so 2D looked at him. “'aven't you talked to 'im about it?”

“I've talked to him a lot,” Del answered, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Too often.”

2D was going to ask what that meant, but Del's aura suddenly glitched, and he was sucked like a breeze back into Russel's head.

Oh well. 2D felt himself slipping into drowsiness, and he slowly shuffled back down the stairs. He lay down next to the large window, and sighed. He could feel his brain turning off, mellowing sweetly into the familiar numbness his painkillers always brought on.

There was still paranoia, still uneasiness. The same itching, freakish sensation he always carried with him, that feeling of a thousand tiny insects crawling up his skin and infiltrating his bloodstream – a feeling that'd been amplified tenfold ever since he'd stumbled into this place.

But it melted under the sedatives. They forced him to relax, forced him to close his eyes and shut off his brain. Whispered to him that things were all right. All right. Or, if he'd taken too many, forcefully snatched consciousness from under him, like too many punches to the head. Either way, he was relieved of anxiety, at least for a while.

* * *

When he awoke, the sun was streaming into his face, nearly blinding him, making him stare back down at the floor as if his life depended on it. He sighed, then yawned, flinching at the weird oceanic scent of his breath. He felt like shit. Eh, and what else is new?

  
He waited a few seconds for his brain to settle a bit, then unsteadily got to his feet. The last waves of drug-induced languor still clung to him, and he loped along with visible effort. Not that it was an out-of-place look among these people.

  
He'd grown used to just treading over people, not caring if they were in his way. Talking to them was fucking useless; they weren't listening anyway. Unless he had something “good” to say - some brainless, fake bullshit about how lovely the place was, they weren't interested. Their minds just shut off from him, their attention attracted to pleasanter things.

  
2D looked blankly at the vending machine in front of him. Press in the right codes, and you received endless amounts of prepackaged foods. Just like a regular vending machine, but free. Which was nice, he guessed.

  
What to have? He didn't care, really. His eyes scanned the boxes, four by six, over and over, trying to take in what was in front of him but failing miserably. It was only the fourth scan around that he noticed something. There was chocolate there, in the third box, first row. Dark chocolate, with walnuts. A flicker of joy warmed his brain.

  
He loved chocolate and walnuts. Just about his favorite thing in the world, in fact, next to his beloved keyboard and his mum and perhaps a handful of other things...  
His fingers punched in the keys, his eyes staring fixedly at the label so he wouldn't get it wrong. Seconds later, the machine whirred to life and a small but thick yellow box slid out into his hand.

  
2D fished into his pocket automatically, looking for loose change, but then he remembered he didn't need it. It boggled his mind for a few seconds – whenever things changed from the status quo, it always took him a good double or triple take to realize it, and not cast it off as some awkward dream or waking fantasy. But this was one he couldn't ignore, since he didn't have change anyhow, so after a minute he sat down, crossing his legs in that eager pretzel his body automatically formed whenever his mind was high on anticipation.

  
Slowly he poked his finger into the opening seal on the box's lid, and the tantalizing scent of chocolate floated into his lungs. He stuck his finger in deeper, and took a very slow, deliberate taste with his tongue. He wanted to eat it carefully, make it last as long as possible, but the moment he had the flavor in his mouth he forgot all about it, instantly digging further into the box, scooping up the cream with his hands like a child.

  
He felt so good at that moment. How long had it been since he'd had this? The box was brandless, but he could swear it was the same mix his father used to have in the fair, back when 2D was a mere toddler. He didn't even know it still existed, but man was he glad he'd found it...

  
“Feelin' good this morning, are we?” 

  
2D turned around, licking his fingers absently.

  
It was Murdoc, leering at him from a few inches away, a bottle of rum dangling from his hand. He took a swig, unbothered as 2D just looked at him in silence, the wheels slowly turning in his head as he thought of a response.

  
“I guess so,” 2D finally said, sighing because even as the words left him he could feel that happiness floating down the river, leaving him with a bereft sense of emptiness.

  
“Oh, so we're guessing now, are we?” Murdoc looked bored, yet amused. “You've never been _sure_ of anything, have you, Stu? Always 'yeah,' 'I suppose,' 'hmm, I _think_ so' -” Murdoc affected a high-pitched, stupid-sounding imitation of 2D's voice before breaking into his signature grating laugh. “Like the crackhead you are. Never quite know what's rrrreally going on, do you? So you just make do with phantasmagoric illusions.”

  
“That's not true,” said 2D, knitting his brows in a menacing glare. Then, without thinking, he added: “Wot does it mean?”

  
Murdoc laughed, throwing back his head. “Case in point, my dear boy.” he said. “Just tryin' to make do. That's all you've ever done. Can't say I don't find it endearing, though. Annoying as bloody god, yeah, but endearing all the same.”

  
“God ain't bloody,” said 2D, without much conviction or interest. His mind was already starting to wander, and he didn't even know where it was going.

  
“He is,” Murdoc replied, drawling from either drunkenness or boredom, reaching into his pocket for cigarettes. “Or so he claims in his own 'sacred' book. If we're to believe that lurid record of events, he should 'ave the blood of millions on his hands.” He snorted. “Wouldn't be half-surprised if he had his goons exaggerate it, though. Or outright fake some of it, to try to make 'im sympathetic to mortals, who are fuckin' pathetic just as-is. But 'e couldn't fool me.” Murdoc grinned with satisfaction, his fingers lazily fondling the cross around his neck, which hung upside down. “No, no. I knew what the fuckin' deal was from the moment I laid eyes on the book. It's no accident that I gave my soul to Satan, hehehe... and I knew I would from alllmost the beginning, I'd say.”

  
2D gazed at Murdoc, half-listening, his eyes half-wandering to random parts of Murdoc's body: the fringe of hair at the edge of his forehead, his miscolored eye, the cross, the weird stubble on his chin. He was searching desperately for something to hold onto, so he could concentrate, but he finally gave up, letting his mind drift to piano chords.

  
“Oi. Faceache?” A hard slap to the jaw forced 2D to pay attention, and also forced a screech of “Ow!” from his throat, one he immediately regretted. “What did I do?” he said, surly.

  
“Nothin', as usual. Just starin' off, not listenin' to me, bein' too caught up in your own dismal brain parade.”

  
2D absently reached for the bottle in Murdoc's hand. “I wan' some,” he said flatly when Murdoc gave him a questioning glare.

  
“You can get your own, ya know.” Murdoc groused, but he handed the bottle over anyway.

  
2D quaffed it like a pro, draining half the bottle before Murdoc snatched it back.

  
“You're a greedy bastard, aren't you?” he said, his tone like vats of acid, though a kind of amusement shone in his black-toothed grin. “Get your own, kid, get your own. 'Cause difficult as it may be for you to wrap your head around, I happen to need this bottle, right now, for my well-being.”

  
“Why?” 

  
Murdoc shrugged his shoulders, lolling his tongue across his chin as if he thought the question was pointless. “Sobriety sucks, yeah?” he finally said, laughing with a tinge of viciousness. “And I want nothing to do with it.” He pressed his thumb down on 2D's head – something he occasionally did as a mark of either condescension or friendliness, or perhaps both.

  
_Get your own._

  
The words struck 2D as odd, and just now he was realizing why. “Is there a bar 'ere?” he asked Murdoc.

  
“What?” the words struck Murdoc as random, out of the blue.

  
“Is there a bar 'ere? I don't remember seein' one.” 

  
Murdoc rolled his eyes. “Yes, there's a bar here, of _course_ there's a bar here. If there's one thing you have to learn about life, Stuart, it's that there is always a bar. Somewhere. Otherwise, I'd be long gone.” He scruffed the blue hair. “I'll see ya around.”

  
2D sat there, fuddled by what Murdoc had said, failing to understand it no matter how hard he contemplated. 

  
_There wasn't a bar._

  
The words jumped in front of his brain as a fact. But he knew better than to believe them at face value. The fact was he hadn't seen the bar. That's all. Nor did he want to. The alcohol he'd drunk before was already blending with the chocolate in a way that made him want to vomit. Ah well. Some things just don't harmonize together, and sometimes you don't realize it until it's too late.

* * *

He found himself looking back out the window, pressing his hands against the cold glass.

  
Noodle. Oh, Noodle.

  
There she sat, at peace in her beautiful floating island. Her soul was still open and welcoming, so happy and carefree. As a guileless child, she was protected from Feel Good Inc. Its very concept was completely alien to her; she could not understand it, and therefore was unable to see the tower, even as it stood directly behind her, tens of thousands of feet into the air. Her connection with nature had not yet been severed, and she was completely happy without the aid of manufactured technology, or mind-altering stimulus, or whatever else the tower could have offered her. Maybe one day she would be broken, and that happiness would shatter around her, forcing her to see the stark bleak reality of the marred earth. 

  
But that day had not yet come.

  
2D gazed longingly at her, his eyes fading with sorrow. If only he could join her. If only he could walk in that island, and feel the trees overhead, the breeze in his hair, the sun gently caressing his skin. He'd heard that no man is an island, but he could live forever on an island, alone, embraced only by nature. Well, almost alone. Of course he'd have to have his keyboard. No, no, wait - a big acoustic piano, that's it. In the sand. He could play it over and over again, reliving all the melodies that brought him so much joy in an endless cycle of bliss...

  
He smiled, feeling a wave of desire crash over him like the rise of a high tide.

  
“I want to go,” he thought, clenching his hands into fists against the hard glass, memories falling like blood from his mind. He could remember the island, vaguely, like a faint echo; and he knew he'd be safe there. Safe... and something else. Protected. Loved. Or... what was the word he wanted? 2D strained himself, pressing his tongue against the roof of his mouth. It's coming, it's coming, it's coming... ehh, it's gone. Just like that, likely never to be found again.

  
One of the many small tragedies of his life – always losing thoughts, always feeling words drift past him like butterflies. Always feeling the world drift past him in fragments, like a jigsaw puzzle, in a vast sea of blue.

  
He didn't dwell on it, though. How could he? It'd been happening for years, and he was used to it. It almost felt, dare he say, normal.

  
Just like the airy-fingered depression that laced its hands around his shoulders, and the paranoia that drilled spikes behind his black eyes. He turned towards Russel, desperate for someone to talk to. But Russel had a cloudy look on his face, an expression that silently stated that he wanted to be left alone. But Russel wasn't really alone. He was in conversation with Del. A silent conversation that no one but he could hear.

  
2D envied him. 


	2. Chapter 2

Sometime later.

Maybe it was tomorrow.

2D stared out the window, and all he could tell was that the sky was dark. Maybe there was a storm. It was impossible to tell time.

He breathed in and out slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose to stem the pain in his head. It pulsed like a heartbeat, subsiding for a second as if to tease him before swelling his veins to the breaking point, flooding his senses with agony.

Somehow he'd fallen asleep without taking his usual dose of painkillers. That must be what happened.

But he couldn't remember sleeping. Had his brain just shut down?

He pulled at his hair, trying to keep from losing his shit altogether.

_Calm down, calm down, just get the pills, get the pills._

His hand reached automatically into his pocket. And found... nothing. His fingers spread out in spasms of fear, and he could feel his chest heaving in anxiety.

_High. Just get high._

2D jumped to his feet, his mind remarkably clear. He'd seen some blokes doing blow (heh-heh, "Blokes n' blow," he grinned to himself), he was sure of it. All he had to do was find that corner, and he was saved. He crawled through the mess of happy soma, his skin crawling at the feel of flesh and skin and the motion of their breathing. But soon he lit up, his heart floating.

The guys, dark and blond-haired, sitting around a table, cutting lines.

2D slogged over to them, trying not to seem too eager. One of the guys looked up, grinning. He had a face like a hobo, withered and sun-tanned and worn. And friendly. Very friendly.

“Hey,” he said, sniffing. “Want to join the party?”

The other guys kind of snickered. It wasn't really a party. They were just hanging out, having fun.

2D nodded hastily, then groaned. His head was spanking him.

“You okay?” The guy was cutting a fresh line, shooting brief glances upwards at 2D.

“Uh-huh.” A blatant lie, but it was easier than trying to explain. “Okay, if you say so.” The guy had a bit of a laugh, some disbelief in his tone. “There, it's all yours.”

2D leaned into the table and pinched his right nostril, huffing in the white dust. He snorted and coughed a bit, laughing a little as the rush stemmed through his lungs. “Fanks,” he said, slapping the guy on the back. “ _Sure_ ,” wheezed the guy, his breath gone.

2D looked at the ceiling, just letting the exhiliration wash over him. He felt so good, like he could take on the world just by standing there and breathing. The rush, the rush, _the rush_. It was so beautiful; his heart thumped in his ears and his life pulsed in front of him, flowing in rhythmic bliss. He knew it wouldn't last. Did it matter? Nah...

He did three or four lines in fifteen minutes, his heart beating faster and faster in his chest, his lungs burning.

Pleasure. It was all he felt for a few seconds. All-consuming surges of delight. It was fine here, it was fine, he was okay, okay. Sitting here, or standing here, or whatever he was doing.

He leaned against the wall, smiling in sheer ecstasy.

But he came down. Inevitably came crashing down. All too soon, the feelings of comfort and satiation faded, and his stickly paranoia returned. Angry. Cutting. As if it were chiding him. He whirled around, eyes large and terrified. Was he hallucinating? Why the fuck did he feel so scared? His heart raced, but instead of the joy he had felt a few minutes ago, a jarring chasm of fear flooded his soul.

He jumped to his feet, he staggered, he crashed back against the wall. What was going on? Why was it going on?

The back of his forehead itched, his neck felt clammy, he felt like ants were crawling up his back and his heart was infected with ringworm.

 _You are here_.

The answer hit him like a jolt of electricity. He couldn't stay. The tower was a prison. Maybe it wasn't obvious from the outside. Even from the inside, maybe you could get deceived. But he wasn't. He knew he was trapped; even when he tried to forget, his paranoid instincts would kick in and remind him, bludgeoning his brain until he felt lost in a claustral funk.

He was getting there now, his face falling, sinking under the sheer weight of the miserable thoughts within. He closed his eyes... then forced them open again. Something had glittered; he'd seen the flash in his peripheral vision. What was it?

His hand reached out and felt around the dusty floor. A megaphone. Old, silver, cold and oddly satisfying to touch. He slid his finger up and down it, brushing away layers of dust and watching them fall to the ground.

Oddly mesmerizing. Relaxing.

Like an automaton he played with it for a long time, just staring at it, bleary and unfocused. He had forever... at least until someone shouted at him or forced him to move on.

“'ello?” he whispered through it, and the whisper was amplified, coursing through the tower like a fresh breeze. Some guy (or was it a monkey? Hair covered his entire face and skin, it was hard to tell) looked up, slackjawed in vague surprise. A slight stirring went through the masses on the floor, and then, once again, the vague humming of nothingness resumed.

2D frowned, but not out of anger. Just... frowned. For no reason.

_City's breakin' down on a camel's back_

_They just have to go 'cuz they don't know wack_

_So all you fill the streets it's appealing to see_

_You won't get out the county 'cos you're bad and free_

_You've got a new horizon it's ephemeral style_

_A melancholy town where we never smile..._

He was full of ennui, spite, and sorrow, and though he didn't shout, the words came out loud and amplified through the megaphone, reverberating around the building like an all-engulfing storm. Everyone in the tower recognized them. The words, the melody. They could already hear the music in their heads, and pretty soon, it filled the room as Russel and Murdoc slid in.

They didn't have to be asked. They just knew.

It was automatic, the way Gorillaz came together as a unit. The song had a mood that was seductive, yet foreboding.

That's what gave it massive appeal. A mass appeal. But as it echoed against the hollow tin walls of Feel Good Inc., the darkness of the song seemed magnified, to the point where regret and pain were the only emotions left. It spread an uneasiness, a fear, a discomfort that even the most contented of persons couldn't ignore. Everyone stirred. Everyone sat up, everyone took notice, even if it was only by widening their eyes or shifting shoulders.

_Windmill, windmill Fatherland_

_Come forever, hand in hand..._

_Love forever, love is free_

_Turn forever, you and me_

_Windmill, windmill Fatherland_

_Everybody in..._

The shift in mood was palpable. Not bitter, not spiteful... just filled with longing. 2D was thinking of Noodle's windmill. The big, red-and-white windmill on her island. But hers was not the only one. Everyone knew of a fatherland somewhere. The place where everything spawned, where they found their greatest memories. Where they had been free, where nature had embraced them as its child.

His call brought it back to them. Flooded their half-sedated brains with recollections. They looked at him intently, yearningly, as if he were the key that could unlock the gates to that special clime, and bring them there once again.

_It's not that easy._

2D wearily lowered his megaphone. The song was over. And just like that, the masses that had been gazing so exaltingly at him faded back down, their eyes slowly falling shut again, as one by one they lay back down. He had awoken something in them, but he hadn't brought them any closer to that something.

So fuck it. They didn't care anymore. Maybe it wasn't easy, maybe that was the point; but why bother with uneasiness if there were far more effortless pleasures right in front of them?

Can you really argue with that logic?

2D sunk down against the wall, breathing in the raised dust and reaching in his pocket for cigarettes. He flicked on his lighter and slipped the cigarette in his mouth, absently watching the flame lick at the blunt end. The long drags felt good, and he watched the smoke float into the air above him.

“Whatcha you gonna do?” he thought, fiddling with his nose. “Some things never change.”

_Like your life._

_“Oh, the lies!”_ 2D laughed involuntarily, and immediately covered his mouth with his hand, hoping no one else had heard it. The last thing he needed was “raving crackhead” added to his already long list of insulting names.

“It's a lie,” he muttered, taking another drag from his cigarette. “My life 'as changed a right lot, and I cawn't never get the old one back.”

Visions of himself as a kid infiltrated his mind, oozing through the cracks in his memory like marshmallow sealant.

Everything was easy then, wasn't it? And fun. So much fun. He could feel his limbs dancing, carefree in the grass, as he climbed trees and ran with the squirrels.

He remembered there was a lot of pain, a lot of hard knocks, but he was good at bouncing back like a Slinky toy. Or at least he used to be...

Painkillers. Too much joy for a kid his age - they blew his mind. His mother said they would take the hurts away. Kill the throbbing in his head, after he'd fallen out the tree. She was a nurse, she knew what was right. And she was his mom, of course she knew what was right.

So he took the pills.

And, for the first time in his life, he knew total bliss. Sinking further and further into the sweetest oblivion. His thoughts ran together, melding and blending into one, and he felt as if his soul was ascending to heaven.

Elysium.

Once he'd had a taste, he never wanted to let it go.

2D blinked.

“Who's that child?” he could still hear the random strangers say. “He has such beautiful eyes.”

 _Beautiful eyes._ Used to be one of his finest features. Everyone, from teachers to family to complete strangers would comment on the soulful, almost ethereal quality of his eyes. He could see the effect they had on people. He had only to gaze for a tad longer than usual, and, for no reason, the person he was looking at would start to smile.

“Your eyes can see my soul.”

A babysitter said it, when he was about seven. “Am I a good person?” she'd asked. “Can you tell me, honestly?”

He just laughed at her; he didn't know what she was talking about. And she'd beamed at him, taking his laughter for a yes...

2D yawned. Memories, feh. Even his memories were cracked and broken, and dwelling too long in the past only made his head ache. He pulled out his fifth cigarette, and vaguely thought about how he was likely giving himself lung cancer at this very moment.

He didn't really care.


	3. Chapter 3

“Russ?”

It was another one of those odd circumstances, when 2D had no idea what time it was and couldn't tell by looking out the window.

Russel, who had just been sitting at his drum kit, head down, slowly looked up into 2D's face.

The severe knit of his heavy eyebrows made 2D flinch.

Should he really be bothering the guy?

But the question really couldn't wait. He twisted his hands together awkwardly, looking blankly at the spot just at the left of Russel.

“So you can see him, too, huh?” Russel finally broke the silence. “That's cool, man.”

“What?” 2D blabbed it without thinking.

Russel sighed. He was well-acquainted with 2D's slowness and knew that if he didn't understand a joke it was generally best to just move on. “What is it, man?”

“Russ, I've been finking.”

“Oh. Didja like it?”

“Yes, I liked it a lot actually,” 2D said.

There was a beat, then he slit his eyes.

“You're not makin' fun o' me are ya, Russ? 'Cos ya know I don' like that.”

Russel looked more intently at 2D. The tone in his voice was slightly different from what he was accustomed to. More hostile. Irked. A quick look down, and he could see 2D was clutching the knife around his belt with unusual intensity.

“You okay, man?”

“'m fine, 'm fine.” 2D sat down, twiddling his fingers in his shoelaces. Russel took in a breath, patiently waiting for him to get his thoughts together.

“I fink I wan' to talk to 'em.”

The words came out slowly, harsh and acrid.

Russel locked eyes with 2D, white orbs staring into black.

_The void._

The void in 2D's eyes stretched to infinity.

They were blank, almost impossible to read.

They could be seen as emotionless, thoughtless, staring from a vacant-minded idiot who no longer knew how to function properly.

They _could_ be seen like that.

But there was energy floating from those black eyes.

Depths of emotion, muted by narcotics and buried in sedatives.

Pain.

A lot of it.

But beyond that, a glow of pure joy. The joy of just living. The joy of innocence and oblivion and carelessness all rolled into one. The kind of joy that cannot be eradicated, no matter how many negative thoughts are hurled towards it. It shone very faintly, at the core of Stuart's being, and Russel could just barely detect it.

He felt a pang of empathy, and some anger, that because of circumstances – circumstances caused by a certain English gentleman – this glow was as weak as candlelight caught in a drizzle. Much stronger were the unpleasant vibes, an energy so virulent and bitter that Russel was instinctively repulsed.

“ _Yo, chill, D._ ”

It was Del, floating out of Russel's head without a by-your-leave.

2D smiled wryly at the blue ghost, noticing Russel's annoyed expression.

“ _He just nervous._ ” Del folded his arms, looking at Russel with playful condescension. “ _Surprised you didn't pick that up, man_.”

“Well I ain't a goddamn mind reader,” Russel returned, not amused. “What was I supposed to think, that energy wasn't normal. Not for him.”

“ _You wan' to talk to the big boys, right, D_?” Del turned to 2D, who nodded wanly.

“ _They in the TV_.” Del pointed to a large, blank widescreen on the opposite side of the room.

2D slowly turned his head to follow, and jerked violently in shock.

Big flat screen TVs.

They covered the wall, in various sizes, each one turned off, large wires running across the floor and into a socket on the ceiling. For a good minute 2D just stared, his jaw hung down.

“ _Well? Ain't you gonna go talk to 'em? Or did your balls just shrivel like turnips_?”

2D bit down hard on his tongue to convince himself of reality. Salty blood slicked down his throat, proving it wasn't a dream at least somewhat, and he slowly got to his feet, determination lining his forehead.

“Those TVs,” he mumbled. “I don' remember them bein' there is all.”

A very loud blast of manic laughter answered him.

2D was about to raise both middle fingers to Del when he suddenly realized the laughing was not coming from behind him, but in front of him. From the TVs. Screens with black-and-white footage of men in leather jackets. Dressed like thugs, goons. Or like crooks in the silent films in 2D's memory.

But with class. A strange dignity.

A superiority.

2D wanted to say something, but he felt his words fade and clench.

Not of his own volition. Literally, he could feel the pressure on his lungs and jaw and lips, and he could not force a single word out of his mouth. But he could still think, and he launched bile at the faces onscreen. All his hatred, annoyance, fear, and disgust. He levelled it at them in droves. Partially because he hated what they stood for. Partially because the violent emotions were beyond his control.

But the men were unbothered. They nodded their heads. Laughed like maniacs.

They didn't care.

Ultimately, 2D was only venting frustration.

Frustration with his life, with himself and with the atmosphere, with his own inability to change things.

That wasn't the problem.

Sometimes it _would_ happen. Someone would reach the tower, and still refuse to sink into the pleasures of it.

That someone could be forced, naturally.

But usually, this wasn't necessary, as the lone person tended to fall right from the tower without even trying. As did everyone, eventually.

Didn't they understand? The paradise was not forever.

Nothing is.

This lone person also tended to be uninterested in bringing about the “revolution,” so to speak. He didn't want to stir anyone up, because he'd already realized it was pointless. He was too jaded, too world-weary. He would either sink into his own depression, or claw his way out accidentally.

And life in the tower would go on, relatively unchanged.

But this 2D character.

He was different.

He would sink into the familiar depression, the pits of despair, but he had a weird determination.

A strong desire to change things.

He'd tried to rouse them once, and failed.

And yet, he tried again. And no doubt, once he'd recovered from the second failure, he'd try again. And again.

The ringleaders, as you might call the men onscreen, were amused.

Confused, too.

2D did not make sense, logically.

He was simple. Very basic.

A bit dull. Idiotic, even, at times.

Usually, these types were easy to sucker in.

They'd collapse straight into the basest of pleasures, oblivious to the maw that was closing around them.

But 2D was, paradoxically, too intelligent for this. He knew it was a game. An illusion, which brought no real benefits. He could feel it, sense it somehow. He even knew how to word it, how to set the emotions to music, in a way that could reach from the thorniest intellectual to the simplest fool.

He had roused the crowd, and though it only lasted a moment, it was a dangerous moment.

He'd unlocked a key somewhere, and if he persisted long enough, all the gates would come crashing undone before him, leaving nothing but dust and smoke in their wake.

Whether he knew this or not didn't matter.

He was stubborn.

Fixated in a way normal people just aren't.

He would keep trying.

And he would succeed.

So he had to be subdued.

Forcibly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fallin' out of aeroplanes. Good times!

**Author's Note:**

> Just a note, in case you're wondering why 2D wrote "Feel Good Inc." rather than Noodle, I conceived this story back when I was first getting into Gorillaz, and naively assumed that since 2D has Damon Albarn's voice, he also wrote all the songs. I thought of changing it, but it'd kind of ruin the "narrative structure," so it is what it is. Hope you don't mind. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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